


Shout Your Secrets

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Foreplay, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Angst, Reunion Fic, sort of, with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I really missed you,” he says hoarsely, and that’s not fair at all, because he shouldn’t be allowed to be so infuriating one minute and then unfailingly sweet the next. And in return her own emotions shouldn’t swing from concern to love so damn fast, but somehow it doesn’t surprise her that they do, because he’s Bellamy and she’s Clarke and that’s kind of how they work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shout Your Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my attempt at a somewhat in-canon first time for these two. It ended up being a lot of foreplay/ a way for them to learn about each other. The idea sort of took hold and wouldn't let go. Title comes from the song I'm Not Going Anywhere by Anthem Lights. Hope you enjoy!

The curved, faded line that cuts up the side of Bellamy’s forehead and disappears under his dark curls is not what Clarke expected to fixate on, seeing as she’s currently sitting - no, straddling - his lap. She’s mildly amazed that they’re still fully clothed after the flurry of longing kisses that got them here in the first place, to the bed in his cabin. 

And yet, just as she draws back to pepper his face with further kisses, her hands pushing back his messy hair, her eyes can’t seem to pull away from this one scar. Its unfamiliarity makes her pause, reminds her there’s so much she’s missed; so much she doesn’t know. Her finger reaches out, follows the path of it until she can’t go further.

“What happened here?” She asks. She’s whispering, and she doesn’t know why, but it just feels wrong to be any louder even though she knows no one can hear them. The walls of the cabin are thick and sturdy, as Bellamy always intended. 

His eyes had closed under her touch, but now they open. They hold hers, in that way that he has that used to scare her, making her feel laid bare despite her carefully constructed defenses. It still makes her feel like that, even more so, but now she realizes how much she needs it, welcomes it - the chance to share everything without holding back. 

“Got grazed by an arrowhead,” he says. “Raven and Jasper tried to build some contraption that would shoot multiple arrows at once, and…” His mouth curls. “Well. You know how their experiments are. One step forward, three steps back. Believe it or not I was one of the luckier ones that day.”

Clarke giggles softly - still a little amazed that she’s even capable of _giggling_ \- and impulsively presses her lips to the thin line, hearing his breath escape in a small sigh. Then his own hand raises, tilting her jaw up slightly. Her eyes travel across the dark wood that forms the ceiling, cut down and carefully aligned just like the many other cabins that are now scattered across this small community they’ve built.

She has to fight a shiver when Bellamy’s breath warms her skin. “I don’t remember this,” he murmurs, and she feels a light fingertip under her chin.

It takes her a second to gather her thoughts, since all her senses are currently occupied by the boy who's holding her so gently, like she's something precious. Like she hasn't already been broken so many times. Or maybe like he wants to put her back together. 

“The Sea Clan,” she remembers finally. “They insisted on me going for a swim. Turns out there are a lot of underwater species I didn’t know about.”

“It’s not like you to skip your homework.” Bellamy smiles fondly at her, and her pulse trips. “I’m surprised you agreed so quickly.”

“Me too,” she admits. “I was in that mindset of ‘try new things’ I guess. And I wanted to gain their trust. Plus, the water did look very inviting, all clear and beautiful under the sun.” She scrunches her nose. “Until I knew what lived in it.”

He chuckles, kissing the spot, and it’s all she can do not to let her eyes roll back. Her fingers bunch into his shirt nonetheless, a fact he does not miss. His lips return to her jaw for a moment, curving up when she can’t quite hide her tiny mewl. 

“I can’t even imagine what the ocean must look like,” he says wistfully.

“I’ll take you there sometime, when it’s warmer,” she promises, sliding her lips across the arch of his cheekbones. “I know you’ll love it.” It was one of the things she hadn’t stopped thinking while she treaded water amongst the waves - how much she wanted to share that moment with those she cared about.

Bellamy doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, there’s a tremor in his voice. “I’m not so sure I’d be the best company.”

Surprised, she takes in the sudden tightness in his expression. “Why do you say that?” She asks. 

He begins shaking his head. “Nevermind, it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” Clarke insists, gripping his shirt a little harder, suddenly needing to get to the bottom of this. His words have called up another thing in her mind, a thought that’s been nagging her for some time. The image of Bellamy standing guard while the others splash in the lake, or promising to go later on, or finding some other task that requires his attention when they’re about to make the trip down to the water.

“You don’t bathe like the others do,” she says thoughtfully, and he stiffens, his whole body tensing. His eyes dart from hers, study a patch of the bedspread for longer than she’s okay with. Gently, she grasps his chin until he finally looks at her.

He swallows. “I haven’t been able to help it ever since- since the mountain.” Her eyes widen, and now she’s the one frozen in place. “They had a… process, for captured Grounders. It involved a particularly long cleansing,” his jaw sets, “among other things.”

Clarke doesn’t think there will ever be a day the guilt doesn’t claw at her like this, so fresh and unrelenting. The shame rises, pulls her down deep. “Oh, Bellamy,” she says, and she doesn’t even know she’s crying until his eyes widen and she tastes salt on her lips. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The ragged whisper keeps leaving her mouth even as she leans forward and hugs him tightly, feeling his arms go around her, stroke up and down her back.

“Hey, it’s okay, Clarke,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. I got past it. I’m fine now.”

“But you’re not fine,” she replies sadly, filled with self-loathing. “None of this is _fine._ ”

Bellamy draws back, cups her face between his large hands and wipes the remaining tears from her cheeks. “You’re not fine either,” he reminds her, and there’s a hint of melancholy in his words, too. Softly, his mouth touches hers. “ _We_ bear it, so they don’t have to.”

Clarke isn’t sure who or what to thank for bringing and keeping Bellamy in her life, but she’s pretty sure she’ll never stop. 

Shakily, she nods and kisses him, feeling his mouth open under hers almost instantly. He accepts her sadness, the ever-present weight on her shoulders, and offers to share it all. The wordless promise is all she needs to remember - he is hers, and she is his, and they face it together. Clarke sighs, melting into him, kissing until she has no breath left. 

“I’m still making you come with me this summer,” she says when they part. The smile he offers is so full of hope she has to kiss him again. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I would certainly hope not.” 

“Besides,” she whispers, fluttering her eyelashes in exaggeration, “you wouldn’t make me go for a swim all alone, would you? Who knows what kind of trouble I might get into.”

Bellamy laughs, just as she’d hoped for, and rests his forehead against hers. “I dunno, I think those sea creatures should be more scared of you than the other way around.”

“All the more reason to keep an eye on me up close,” she grins.

He takes her bottom lip between his teeth, still smiling. Her hands snake under his shirt. A thrill runs through her as his muscles tremble under her touch, fingers clutching at her hips. They haven’t done much more than kiss until now - and even that’s been careful and slow, neither of them wanting to push the other too far, but both also making it clear that there’s no one else.

She kisses his cheek, his temple, even his nose, then meets his eyes as she pulls the shirt up and off, tossing it aside. Her gaze hungrily takes in the broad sweep of his shoulders, the thick bands of muscle in his arms, the ridges of his abdomen. But she also notices how rare it is to find a patch of unmarred skin. He’s covered in scrapes, old and new, both fresh and faded lines covering his tanned torso.

It’s when she brushes her fingertips directly below his pectorals that Bellamy takes in a particularly harsh breath, and she stops. She knows that sound too well. “You’re hurt!” She accuses. “Why didn’t you say something?”

But Bellamy shakes his head, his hand covering hers. “It’s not fresh. I think I fractured a rib once, it just never healed right after that.”

“You _think?_ ” Her voice sounds too shrill even to her own ears, but she can’t help it. Only _he_ would ever make a broken rib sound like nothing more than a light scratch.

He rubs her arms comfortingly. “Things were a bit crazy, alright? There was a new tribe nearby that nobody knew a damn thing about, I was trying to train the others in case we were attacked or god knows what, and also get those freaking walls up at the same time.” He sighs wearily, and she’s again ready to apologize for leaving him to deal with all of that alone.

“You’ve done an incredible job here, Bellamy,” she says, and he must hear the oddness of her voice because he tilts her chin up, eyes unwavering when they meet hers.

“Clarke, none of this would have been possible without you.” His fingertip stops the protest that’s ready to leave her mouth. “Without someone making the impossible choices, we’d never have gotten to this moment, worrying about the weather or rations or training. _You_ gave us that.”

She kisses his finger and releases a long breath, letting her protest drain out with it. “So did you,” is all she says instead.

Bellamy sends her a cheeky grin. “I think you’re the only one who ever says that without sounding surprised.”

“Well that’s because not everyone knows you like I do,” she says, more than a little proudly, and okay so she’s a little possessive but whatever, after everything she thinks it’s allowed. And the bright smile on his face tells her he doesn’t mind one bit.

Her hand trails down his chest again, pausing at the old injury. “So. You were saying?” 

“A lot was going on all at once,” he explains. “Anyways, we were out hunting when we got ambushed, and I took a hit. Didn’t even realize how bad it was until later.”

“Please tell me you at least got it checked.”

“Well, yeah, but your mom said there wasn’t much she could do besides bind it and give me meds for the pain. Something about them needing to heal on their own?”

“That’s true, but…” She chews her lip in thought. “Did you bind it correctly? And for long enough? Don’t say it was restricting, Bellamy, I swear-”

Bellamy’s laughter cuts off her words. He cups a hand around her neck and pulls her in, coaxing his mouth over hers until she finally eases and returns the kiss, biting his lip for good measure. He doesn’t seem to care, still smiling when he finally lets go. 

“I really missed you,” he says hoarsely, and that’s not fair at all, because he shouldn’t be allowed to be so infuriating one minute and then unfailingly sweet the next. And in return her own emotions shouldn’t swing from concern to love so damn fast, but somehow it doesn’t surprise her that they do, because he’s Bellamy and she’s Clarke and that’s kind of how they work.

She slides her fingers through his hair and kisses him again, whispers “I missed you too” into his neck before attaching her lips to his pulse and sucking hard. The fact that he’s not quite able to contain his groan makes her smile. Her mouth is learning the curve of his shoulder when Bellamy tugs at her shirt. She sits back with a pout, and it’s his turn to grin. “You’re up,” he says, and she raises her arms so he can remove her layers.

Clarke hasn’t felt self-conscious to such a degree in some time. As Bellamy’s eyes roam over her upper half she’s increasingly aware of the goosebumps that tickle her skin, the way her nipples tighten in the cups of her too-small bra. Bellamy makes no move to remove that item of clothing yet, and so she sits there, fascinated by his eyes feasting openly, growing impossibly dark. Then he leans forward and places a kiss directly over her heart, so tender that her eyes prick with tears.

He continues in that manner, starting at the junction of her neck and shoulder and trailing a wet path of kisses along the skin, letting out a satisfied hum when her fingers thread into his hair. He nudges the strap of her bra aside, letting it droop while he licks at the red mark it’s embedded into her skin. She opens her mouth to urge him lower but can only gasp, apparently, and she’s sure that’ll stroke his ego to no end but as long as he doesn’t stop she can live with that.

As if he’s heard her thoughts, he pauses, and a whimper flies past her teeth. “Bellamy,” she grits out. But when she finally opens her eyes he’s not smirking as expected, only looking curiously at a spot on her arm.

“Is that paint?” He asks.

She follows his gaze to the stripe of bright blue peeking out from the underside of her arm. “Oh,” she grins, “yeah. The Grounders had this ritual, something to do with honoring the seasons, and it involved decorating each other with symbols and the like. I may have gotten a little too carried away.”

Bellamy smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and that bothers her. She cradles his cheek, waiting for him to speak. “Do you miss them?” He asks, glancing up through thick lashes. 

She hears the unspoken question clear as day. It makes her hold him a little tighter, answer as honestly as she can. “I miss… the potential, the possibility of sharing resources, ideas. I still believe some of them would fit in well with us, and vice versa.” He nods, but she’s not done. “It was easy to be there, because they already had a leader. And so I didn’t have to be one. But that wasn’t truthful to myself. So, yes, I miss them sometimes, if only because of lost opportunities.”

She kisses him long and hard, trying to pour everything into it. “But I know for a fact, I missed our people even more. And… I missed _us._ ”

Bellamy hugs her then, tucking his face into the crook of her neck and wrapping his arms around her. She locks her arms around his shoulders and squeezes him back, even with her knees at his waist, until every part of them touches somehow.

She loses track of how long they sit there, only registering the sound of rain pattering on the roof of the small cabin. When Bellamy finally speaks, his voice is considerably lighter. “You know, I bet we could have our own fun with paint,” he teases, and the warmth in his voice makes her laugh and bite his shoulder, kissing it a second later.

When she lifts her head he wastes no time in finding her mouth, and their tongues meet in a lazy dance while his hand splays across her lower back. It’s only when he starts to lightly trace the dimples in her spine that she unconsciously rocks forward, whining directly into his mouth, and his smile is full of promises that make her shiver.

He leaves a trail of burning kisses down her chest, a flick of his hand relieving her of her bra, and before she knows it she’s flat on her back. Bellamy settles between her parted thighs with ease. His elbows rest on either side of her head, holding his weight off her, though she’d much rather he didn’t right now. His eyes rake over her with a different sort of longing, the kind that makes heat slither down her spine to coil low in her body, building on the need that has already gathered. 

Bellamy dips his head, his voice low and rough when he says, “I want to know something else.”

“O-okay,” she agrees distractedly.

“What do you like, Clarke?”

“Huh?” She’s confused until his mouth latches to the skin under her ear, and her resulting moan sounds incredibly loud after how quiet they’ve been up til now. He smirks, and her legs squeeze his hips.

“Good to know,” he says, and _oh,_ now she understands what he’s asking. 

Her skin prickles with a blush as he leans on his arms, openly gazing down at her. The fingers of his right hand absently stroke her hair. Clarke always knew it would be different with him, when - _if_ \- they ever got to this point, but it only strikes her right now just how much she wants to be here, how damn glad she is that’s him, _Bellamy_ , who’s with her after all this time.

She puts a hand to his cheek, simply resting her palm flat against his skin. His eyes drift shut for a moment and he leans into her touch. Then he turns to brush a soft kiss into her hand. Her thumb traces the outline of his mouth, her own lips curving into a smile that mirrors his.

She reaches up at the same time he leans down, colliding. They both groan at the first brush of bare chests, and the contact seems to urge both of them past any last vestige of hesitance. Her arms loop around his back, pulling him more fully against her. When Bellamy’s hand snakes in between them to cup her breast and thumb over a pebbled nipple, she arches and gasps, “again,” into his mouth.

He murmurs agreeably, breaking their kiss, but before she can protest, his head lowers to her breast, licking and sucking until she has to clap a hand over the sounds that are leaving her mouth. He stops at that, and when she glares from under heavy-lidded eyes, he grins crookedly.

“Don’t.” Just one word, accompanied by a tug to her hand, and she’s ready to combust.

Their fingers lace together as his mouth returns to her other breast, giving it the same attention until she’s writhing, barely recognizing that it’s her voice echoing in the air. He grazes down her stomach, pausing questioningly at the flare of her hips until Clarke raises her head.

“Knife?” He asks, a finger swiping along the thin scar at her hipbone.

“Um…” His other hand is busy undoing the button on her jeans, so she can’t really think straight. “S-sword. A group of rogue Grounders. They deserted their tribes and were just, _ah-_ " Her hips buck uncontrollably as his fingers drag over her underwear. 

“They were just what?” Bellamy asks, pausing all motions, and she wants to scream.

“They, uh, they were traveling,” she finally manages. “I tagged along because they needed a healer, and they taught me how to fight properly. That,” she points to the mark, “was a gift.”

“A gift,” he repeats flatly, eyes narrowed, and she just knows that he’s half a second away from sending out a patrol to find that small band of wanderers, so she glides a hand soothingly over his tousled curls until she feels him relax.

“Bellamy.” She waits for him to look up. “They trained me well. It was necessary if I was going to defend myself. This was just a reminder of what could happen if I’m not careful.”

He sighs, then traces the scar with his tongue until her limbs turn to jelly. “Only you would call it a gift, princess,” he mutters, but resumes yanking off her clothes. She kicks them aside maybe a little too eagerly as he crawls between her legs again. “No wonder you nearly took my finger off in training yesterday.”

Despite her current state, she still feels a little smug. “Damn straight.”

That smugness flees in a near-shriek when his tongue swipes between her thighs. Bellamy swears lowly and does it again, hands firmly splayed over her hips as she tangles her fingers into his hair. He alternates between licking at her in deep strokes and sucking her clit until she’s shaking, begging nonsensically, and even Bellamy looks a little wrecked by the time he finally shucks the rest of his clothes. 

“Please,” she reaches for his shoulders, trying to pull him close. “God, _Bellamy-_ ”

Then he’s grasping her hands tightly, moving up until the blunt head of his cock is at her entrance. Clarke keeps her eyes on his as best she can while he pushes in, both of them barely able to hold back. Bellamy exhales unevenly against her skin.

“Clarke.” Her name is uttered so quietly she has to open her eyes to make sure she didn’t imagine it. Their noses brush as Bellamy leans down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Are you-?” 

Unable to speak, she just nods, then wraps her limbs around him like she’s never letting go, pressing sloppy kisses to any part of him she can reach.

As soon as he begins moving, she knows it won’t last long for either of them. They’re both too wound up, too ready to break, and she’s fine with it, she doesn’t care, because it’s nowhere near the last time they’re going to do this, so she holds on and savors every moment. Their hips clash in an easy rhythm, and she’s pinned between him and the bed, his voice low in her ear saying things she never thought she’d hear - how she’s better than he ever dreamed, yes he dreamt of her, and of course he’ll go with her to the ocean, he’ll go anywhere with her, she should know that by now. 

She comes undone when he tells her he loves her, and digs her nails into his skin so hard she might add to the litany of marks on his skin, but it seems to spur him on. “I love you too, of course I do,” she says, and yeah, a few tears might be leaking out but it’s Bellamy and he only kisses her, tears and all, and she repeats the words against his mouth until he spends himself with a final hard thrust.

Clarke refuses to unwind from him, ignoring his insistence that he’s too heavy, and after he realizes he’s not winning this argument he gives in with a small chuckle, laying his cheek on her shoulder while she strokes his hair. Eventually he does turn them onto their sides at least, and she falls asleep to the sound of his heartbeat drumming steadily under her ear.

When she wakes, everything is quiet, and Bellamy’s chest rises and falls peacefully, half his face smashed into the pillows. Clarke smiles and hugs her own pillow because _she loves him_ and she’s never going to stop, and the thought makes her happier than she ever thought possible. 

Soon, he’s roused by her weight half atop him, her mouth trailing along the wing of his shoulder blade. His sleepy eyes are going to become one of her favorite sights, she can just tell already.

“Tell me about this one,” she says, tracing the line that zigzags over his collarbone.

Bellamy smiles.


End file.
